As a polka DJ, I had for a long time cherished the sounds of Eastern Europe. From there came the beloved accordian, which I would try to play and fail every time. And since I've got a terrible stage presence, I prefered to just linger in the background at the underground polka clubs in Denver, watching people do the Chicago honky.
Finally, someone saw my jamming out on the keyboard after closing hours and wondered what I could do. So they brought me to the Polka Street Records studio and I made something entirely not polka at all. It was so unlike polka, in fact, that Hans, the sound engineer, frowned at me and said, "Zis might be iust too much sound for Denva. Perhaps you go to Europe? Sey might appreciate such progressiveness."
So, I took Hans's advice and packed my bags to go to Europe. From here I went to Prague, where people looked at me funny when I tried to speak. I guess no one speaks English there. So then I went where I could speak the language, Russia.
In Russia, I met Vitaly Borisovich Karkov and Ivan Denisovich Minilevsky. I met them at some mafia run polka club. They looked bored, just watching rats race around tracks and placing bets on which rat would win. Would George Bush or Vlad Putin win? That's the kind of things they named their rats. I approached Vitaly and asked him if he'd like to hear real music. Vitaly and Ivan took me to their place, where we drank much vodka and did not listen to my music, but rather to Russian bands like Mumi Trol' and Liubeh. Great bands in their own right, but it wasn't mine. I tried to explain to them in my broken Russian that I make music, and I pulled out the cd that Hans had helped me burn.
They loved it. They were also record execs at Kracnui Rekordi, or Red Records. I was an instant hit in Moscow, and within a month I could hear my tunes in coffee shops, bars and clubs alike. I was so big, that my music traveled to Belarus, where Lukashenko invited me to stay at his palace. So I went, and he told me about how he put his political prisoners in the Chernobyl dead zone. So I made sure not to be a political enemy. From there, to Ukraine, then to Germany, then back to the Czech Republic, then to France and Spain. I became huge in Europe. So huge that I lived in Ibiza for a while, under the tutelage of Michael Cretu, the main man behind Enigma.
From there, I decided it was time to come home. And here I am. No longer at underground polka clubs.
